


Stand By Me

by fandomtrash2611



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accident, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring Mycroft Holmes, Case, Concerned John Watson, Cute, Drugs, Happy Birthday Alice!, James Moriarty - Freeform, M/M, Post The Reichenbach Fall, Revenge, Sad, Stand by me, Therapy, but not too sad I hope, happy end, inspired by a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23235034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomtrash2611/pseuds/fandomtrash2611
Summary: After another reckless case that brings Sherlock into hospital, John is leaving. The effect of his action is more serious than he would have thought.... Will everything be alright again?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Stand By Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [consultingbatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingbatch/gifts).



> Dear Alice,
> 
> all the best for your special day and despite everything going on at the moment I truly hope you'll have a happy birthday and enjoy our presents including this fanfiction.  
> I wish you a great new year, with lots of love, happiness, adventures and all the best in the world.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Yasmin  
> aka fandomtrash and your crazy Twitter friends listed above :) <3
> 
> @Sprinkledoodler  
> @gabmoony27  
> @SherlockW_H  
> @SFabiani67  
> @JohnsNotHisDate  
> @melanie75851150  
> @Forever_1895  
> @RachelMaung  
> @hisboswell  
> @martinruinedmy1  
> @221carnations  
> @siephilde42  
> @221bsherlocks  
> @fxtrx221b
> 
> Also thank you so much to Sprinkle & Kat for beta-ing it :)

John had thought that things had changed, or at least would change over time. He always told himself to give Sherlock more time. But this was unacceptable, and he was questioning if all this, things between them, was a good idea after all, or if it would just break his heart once again. Like all those years ago when he had thought Sherlock had left him for good. 

It had started slowly and it was a subtle process over the years, but soon enough the soldier had understood that he had fallen for his flatmate. The brilliant, rude, and absolutely gorgeous detective from Baker Street. Yet he denied it, unsure if the detective wanted him as well. Sherlock had always told him that love was simply a chemical defect, but after his return things had changed. John had grieved, had read the articles of The Fall and they had broken his heart. He was angry, mostly at himself for denying his feelings and not telling Sherlock how he felt before it was all too late. But a small soft voice in his head had made him question himself once more. Sherlock had always known how he had felt. Angry, sad, horny, tired, hungry. He had always known, and the thought of this had made him even more sad, but then his prayers had been answered and Sherlock had returned. Just like that he had stood in their flat in Baker Street, shabby clothes, dirty and exhausted. Without thinking he had stepped up to the detective and had kissed him, damn the consequences. He had finally told him how he had felt and – to his surprise – Sherlock did actually feel the same! 

This was how things had started and now they were here, John thought and looked at Sherlock’s fragile and beaten-up body in the hospital bed. Fuck... He was so angry at his lover. Angry that he had once more run off on his own and got himself into this mess before anyone could have interfered. An undercover mission his brother had organised and needed him for. John had been against this whole case but Sherlock had once more not listened to him. They had fought. A rough fight even Mrs Hudson had heard downstairs. John had been angry and had left to take a walk and calm himself. When he had returned to their flat, Sherlock was gone. For three days he couldn’t reach him, couldn’t figure out where the hell he had been. Then an unexpected call while John was in the office. Mycroft. The older Holmes brother had told him that something had gone wrong. That Sherlock’s cover was blown and he had been on the run but without managing to get to safety. The boss of the small undercover ring had ordered his goons to beat him up and torture him. And they had done their job thoroughly. Immediately John had left the office and, as usual, a black car was waiting for him and had taken him to a small hospital in a quaint town outside of London. Now John was here for the second day, watching over Sherlock and waiting by his bed for him to wake up. 

“What the hell were you thinking?”, he mumbled angrily at the Detective. “I can’t believe you did this to me... Vanish again, get yourself into danger...” He sighed. “Shit, Sherlock... I love you, you moron and this is what I get from you? I’m not sure I can do this any longer...” 

He held his head in his hands and closed his eyes for a second. Trying to get rid of all the memories and the thoughts of what could have happened, how he could have lost him again. A slight knock at the door interrupted him and when he looked up, he could see Mycroft. 

“Can I come in?”, he asked carefully and John nodded. 

The older Holmes sat beside the doctor by the bed of his little brother. He was worried and blamed himself for the state his brother was in. Even though he never really showed it, he loved his little brother and wasn’t sure what he would do if he lost him. He knew the case had been dangerous but he was sure that Sherlock could handle himself very well while being undercover. Yet things had gone wrong. His team was currently investigating why, and Anthea had promised to keep him updated. He would find the one responsible for this. 

“John, I’m truly sorry. If I had known, I...” 

“You're both idiots!”, John grumbled at Mycroft. “You and Sherlock. He’s reckless and you underestimated the situation! How could you do this?! Send him there in the first place?” 

John’s anger at Sherlock turned towards Mycroft and the detective’s brother knew it. The elder Holmes simply sat there and waited until the doctor had finished shouting at him. 

“I told you I’m sorry, John. This will never happen again.” 

“You’re damn right about that!” 

“John!”, Mycroft said and grabbed his arm and he immediately turned around to see Sherlock wake. 

It took him some time but after a moment Sherlock blinked against the bright white light and looked at them confused. “John”, he croaked. “Myc...” He coughed and John handed him a small cup of water and helped him drink it. Immediately Sherlock felt a bit better and he once more tried to speak. 

“Where are we?”, he said, still with a harsh dark voice. “What happened exactly?” 

Mycroft told his brother what had happened while John simply sat there, watching the man he loved and trying to get his feelings under control. He was still angry as hell but also happy that Sherlock was finally awake and seemed to be well. 

“I’ll give you two some time”, Mycroft said and left the room when he saw the way his brother looked at the doctor. 

“John?” He stayed silent and just looked at Sherlock. “I know you’re angry at me and I’m sorry, but this case was important and Mycroft needed my help. I was sure that there would be no problems, I...” 

“You always are Sherlock”, John said calmly but the detective could hear the anger in his boyfriend’s voice. “You always are sure you can manage. You never care about your health or how your actions affect the people around you.” 

“John, I...”, Sherlock said, and felt lost. Why was John this angry? They had fought and this was not the first case that had ended badly in some way so why was he reacting like this? “You’re overreacting John. I’m fine. All was fine. I was in no danger until my cover was blown.” 

“Weren’t you?”, John snarled. “A drug den, human trafficking, weapons... Not the safest place for an ex-junkie and someone who got kidnapped and tortured before.” 

Sherlock startled. John’s words hurt him more than expected. He was used to people calling him a junkie and a freak but hearing it from John was a completely different feeling for him than usual. He stayed silent and waited. John surely just needed some time to process things. His thoughts got interrupted by the army doctor’s next words. 

“I’m sick of you just risking your life like this. Waiting over your sick bed and hoping that you wake up just fine and yourself. You’re putting yourself in unnecessary danger despite my worries. Despite the fact that I lost you before”, John said a bit calmer now and his voice thick with tears. “I love you Sherlock, I truly do. But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t just sit here and wait while you run off again and hope that you return safely. I can’t bear to lose you a second time.” John stood up and stepped to the door. 

“John... John, what are you doing?” 

“I’m leaving. For good.” 

“But you can’t...” 

“I’m glad you’re fine”, John said and he meant it. “Goodbye Sherlock.” Then he left. Not turning back, ignoring Sherlock shouting his name, Mycroft who looked at him confused when he stepped out of the room. He didn’t have the strength to go through all this a second time. Losing him a second time and knowing that he would never come back. 

Sherlock didn’t know what to say. How did this happen? What had happened anyway? He couldn’t understand why John had reacted like this. This was his job after all, his life, and John had never complained before. Well Sherlock was sure the doctor would come to his senses and wouldn’t just leave him here. Would he? A minute later Mycroft stepped inside, looking concerned at his little brother. 

“Are you okay?” 

“He left...”, Sherlock just said and Mycroft could see the confusion in his brother’s face. “He said that this was it.” 

“He what?” 

Mycroft definitely was surprised. He knew the doctor’s temper was a problem and got in the way sometimes, but he had never thought that he would just leave; not now that Sherlock had finally changed for the ex-soldier. He excused himself, stepped out of the room again, pulled out his phone and decided to call DI Lestrade. If anyone could bring John Watson to his senses, it was the DI. Quickly and in a few words he told Gregory what had happened and asked him to look after John and talk to him. 

“I know if he listens to anyone, it’s you. Please bring him to reason and come back. Sherlock needs him.” The DI promised to do so and when he hung up and returned to his brother’s room, he found him staring at the wall and deep in his thoughts. 

“Sherlock?” 

His brother looked up and at him. Still confused. “Why did he leave? There was nothing wrong between us? I don’t understand....” 

“I’m sure he’ll be back. He just needs some time to deal with this whole situation”, Mycroft assured him and Sherlock believed him. 

The next day Sherlock was discharged from hospital and Mycroft got him home. He could see that his little brother hadn’t slept at all and was analysing what had happened with John Watson. Sherlock analysed everything from day one since they had gotten together, after he returned to London. That special night things had begun and he had got a second chance. From the day John had just kissed him and held him and had cried and told him he loved him.... Things had moved pretty fast between them and yet they seemed to be happy. That night, they had talked, just lying in his bed, touching and confessing their feelings. John had made him promise that he would talk to him because talking was the first thing that was important in their relationship. Then the cases. They had kept doing their work together and Sherlock had never thought that it would bother John so much when he was on one alone. But that wasn’t really it, was it? John had said, that he couldn’t stand that he risked his life anymore. But he didn’t. He had John and his brother and even Lestrade by his side who always kept an eye on him. Annoyingly thorough he thought. But for John, he would not complain and was trying to be safe. The sex wasn’t the problem either, Sherlock thought while he hung up his coat and sat in his chair. They were very compatible and John seemed to enjoy it immensely. Well… so did he after all. Despite his prejudice that love was a chemical defect, he truly did love John and had told him so many times. They had worked well together and some days couldn’t stop touching each other. It was annoying to Sherlock sometimes, that he had such a strong need for John. To feel his touch, his kisses, hear him mumbling soft words into his ear while they were in their own little bubble. The need to have John around had been there since day one and he had never understood it. He had always thought that John Watson was indispensable for his work, but he had soon realised – especially in the two years he had spent separated from the doctor – that he was not only essential for his work. He was the one preparing them a cup of tea in the afternoon, breakfast in the morning, heading to the shops when Sherlock once more didn’t buy the milk, kept him in line with others and John also was the reason that people seemed to accept him, especially at the station. Of course John got annoyed and angry with him. Many times. The time he had an experiment in the microwave that included human eyeballs. The time he had nearly set fire to their rooms and one of John’s favourite jumpers. The time when he had shouted at Mrs Hudson for interrupting him at an experiment with bringing up tea. He had made him realise that it wasn’t wrong to have emotions and act on them. John made him a better human and things simply seemed to get better around his doctor. Everything with John was better, Sherlock realised. The tea in the morning. The walks around London while on a case. The simplicity of a lazy evening at home with boring telly. Even though he still dreaded them sometimes. Things had definitely been fine between them, he concluded. So why had he left? 

For the first time in hours Sherlock moved his aching limbs and looked up. There was a cold cup of tea on the small table beside his armchair and it was dark. The living room was only slightly illuminated by the street lights outside their window. A look at his watch told him that it was past midnight so he decided to get some rest after all. His body still ached from where they had beaten him up. He headed to his, no... Their bedroom and changed into some pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt. Careful not to get too much pressure on his injured ribs, he lay down and looked at his phone. He should text John and ask him to come home. And so he did after a few minutes, before he closed his eyes and buried his face in John’s pillow. It smelled of him and relaxed Sherlock so he fell asleep a few minutes after. 

John couldn’t sleep. He felt miserable but he knew it was just for his own good. He couldn’t stand going through losing the love of his life a second time. He wouldn’t make it this time... 

He shoved the thought about the time after The Fall away, stood up and wandered through his old room at his parent’s house. He had packed his things after arriving back at London and had called his sister. The two of them had bonded quite heavily after his official coming out and her short break-up with Clara. She had understood when he had told her, and had immediately prepared everything for his arrival. But now he was restless and thinking about what had happened. Had he overreacted? No... No, this was the right thing. As soon as he had arrived in Baker Street, Greg had visited and talked to him. John remembered their conversation and was sure that Mycroft had urged the DI to talk to him and changed his mind. 

“He needs you John. He changed for you. I have never seen him this happy since I’ve known him. You can’t go now, he needs you John!” 

Those were the words of the detective, yet John had ignored them and had said that he couldn’t do this and Greg had understood what he meant. He had been the one who had found him before it was too late after all. Mycroft had been with him so he should understand his decision. He had also talked with Ella – his therapist – about all this. Well, after Greg and Myc had made an appointment and had personally dragged him there again. 

His phone vibrated on the nightstand and so he took it and looked who would write a message at this time. Sherlock. Unsure if he should open it, he put the phone down again just to pick it up a minute later. 

_Hope you’re okay. Home and I hope you come hom_ _e soon as well. I miss you. SH_

It hurt him to read this yet he shoved everything away and put the phone on the nightstand once more. He couldn’t... 

3 days... 3 days after he had returned from hospital without John and much sleep. Sherlock couldn’t think of anything other than John leaving him behind. He started blaming himself. He was the reason John had been this angry and left after all. He couldn’t stand being with him anymore and it hurt. Deeply. Yet he was responsible for what had happened. It was his fault and nothing could convince him any different. He missed John, missed his light snoring beside him in bed, missed his calming scent of tea, soap and woollen jumpers by his side. Their light touch of hands during breakfast, during tea in the afternoon, when they sat in a cab on their way to a crime scene. He wasn’t sure that he could do this without him anymore. Things had changed and definitely for the better. Also the cases. He didn’t need an adrenaline rush or get high to solve cases, he just needed John's input, his thoughts and the simplicity of them. Gosh.... Sherlock stood up from his armchair and moved to the window to look at the street. He craved for a cigarette. After a few more minutes he grabbed his coat and left Baker Street to go to a nearby shop and grab some cigarettes. Immediately after he had some, he lit one up when back on the street. Sherlock could feel the nicotine rush through his veins and calm him down. He didn’t want to go home, didn't want to go back to the silence and where every little detail reminded him of the doctor. Without destination he wandered through the London streets, deep in his mind palace. He had to get John to come back. But how? 

John avoided his sister and sister-in-law and was out most of the time. He just was in their house to sleep. For the rest of the day he wandered through the lonely streets nearby and thought about Sherlock. He missed him but he couldn’t go back. He had thoroughly discussed things with his new therapist and he had told him to look after himself this time. 

“It’s no good if you forget your own health over this relationship”, the man had said last night. John knew he was right. They had discussed all this during the sessions. Sherlock, the cases, their relationship. He was a nice elderly lad, experienced but not too pushy. Yet something felt odd about him. He was too eager to find out everything about the man he loved. But then he was his therapist and questions about his better half were normal. He had opted for a man again after the last failure with his female therapists. He was a nice bloke, queer as well, understood his problems and wasn’t judgemental. He was in his late 40s like John, broad shoulders, tall, dark hair and already grey temples. He was on his way to another appointment and it had just started to rain when John had left the house. It didn’t help to improve his mood and he put the collar of his coat up and tucked his hands in his pockets. The tube was crowded like usual and he felt watched. He knew it was one of Mycroft’s men who was following him. He entered the small office half an hour later and was – like usual – the last patient. He waited a moment until the doctor opened another door and let him in. 

“Come on in, John. Tea?” 

“Please...” John slipped out of his coat and sat in the comfortable armchair opposite the man. 

“How are you feeling?”, Doctor Jones chatted while preparing them a cup of tea. 

“I’m okay.” 

“You don’t look okay.” 

“I didn’t get much sleep”, John confessed. 

“Thinking about Sherlock?” He nodded. “Have you contacted him?” 

“No...” 

“But he did?” 

“Yes...” 

“How does that make you feel?” 

“Insecure.” 

“About what?”, the doctor said, and put a hot cup of tea in front of him, before sitting down, crossing his legs and taking his notebook. 

“About what I did. I miss him.” 

“But we discussed this yesterday.” 

“I know... I know I have to look after myself but I do miss him. I’m not sure this was a good idea? What if he starts using again?” 

“It’s not your responsibility to always look after him. You have to learn to let it go. Don’t worry this much. He’s a capable young man who knows how to handle things. He’ll be fine. And maybe this is just temporary after all. Yet you need a break and it’s good you decided to do it.” 

“Yeah...”, John mumbled and sipped from his tea. He had doubts but knew his doctor was right. He needed time or this would break him again. They talked about his day, his feelings, Sherlock and how he thought things could go on. An hour later he left again and headed to a nearby pub to have some dinner and a pint. 

“You know where he is, don’t lie to me”, Sherlock grumbled into the phone and he could hear his brother sigh at the other end. 

“Of course, I do! But he left. Don’t push him. He’ll come back, Sherlock. Just give him time”, Mycroft said, and he could feel his younger brother’s anger at the other end. 

“Tell me!”, Sherlock demanded. 

“No. It’s his choice to contact you when he’s ready. Be patient”, Mycroft said and hung up. 

Sherlock shouted at his phone and tossed it on the sofa. Shit! He had no clue where John could be. He had never been patient and this waiting for John to make the first move, drove him nuts! He walked up and down in their living room and tried to gain control over his feelings again. He had to or this would end in a complete mess... 

_3 weeks later_

Sherlock hadn’t slept and eaten in days. He was exhausted from this chronic pain in his chest and the constant reminders of John Watson. He was sure John had left him for good or he would have texted or called back. But there was no sign. Mycroft denied him the information as to where he was as well, urging him to give the doctor more time. Greg was no help either, and just tried to distract him with some boring cases. He had shut him off from the world and the only person he regularly saw was Mrs Hudson who got him some tea and food. The continuous voices in his head of what to do with this situation, with John and his feelings, his insecurity made him crazy. He had started smoking again but the nicotine had stopped calming him down. It was his fault that John would never come back. He had no way to contact him or no clue where he was. There was no hope that he would come back at all. It was a disaster. Sherlock wore some jogging pants and an old t-shirt, his hair was a mess, he hadn’t left the house in days, and he felt as if the walls were closing in. 

“You know that it’s no good to get so emotional over your pet”, a familiar voice said and he looked up. “Emotions... Boring and distracting things, don’t you think?” 

“Shut up!”, he grumbled at Moriarty sitting calmly in his armchair, fidgeting with an apple in his hand. 

“I told you, you were never good enough for the doctor. He deserved better than a junkie and maniac like you.” 

“I told you, shut up!”, Sherlock shouted and stood up. “He will come back.” 

“Do you really think so?” 

“Sherlock, dear?!”, he heard Mrs Hudson shouting from downstairs. “Are you alright?” 

“All fine here!”, he shouted back and looked at Moriarty again. “You are not real. You’re just in my head so nothing you say is true...”, he mumbled and paced the floor. 

“Yeah... Keep telling yourself that”, James laughed. “But I am you. We are one. We always were. You’re not the good one. You pretend you are on the side of the angels but deep down we both know how rotten you truly are. You enjoy the crimes, enjoy to hurt John Watson with your behaviour and words all the time. You hurt your brother, your best friend Gregory Lestrade. Not too bright himself if you ask me but a loyal sniffer dog and another pet in your collection.” 

“Go away!”, Sherlock grumbled through clenched teeth. 

“You wanted so desperately to be a good man and yet you are not. You never will be. You're just a boy who likes to get high. Don’t you Sherlock?” He tried to ignore the other man’s voice. “You like to feel the rush through your body, your blood pumping. More... Always a bit more until it gets too dangerous. You like the adrenaline coursing through your body when you just made it. When you just avoided an overdose. It’s what you need. It’s what you do and this is why John left you.” 

“I haven’t had anything in years. Not since I met John!”, Sherlock protested. 

“Oh, but the hunt, Sherlock. I’m talking about all these criminals, all these cases. Starting with the cabbie. ‘A Study in Pink.’ Interesting title your John chose. You liked the feeling when you nearly took the pill just to prove you are so clever. Just to see if you were right. Pretty inconvenient that John was faster and shot him. But still this rush was something else.” 

Yes, it was. It was all the time when he was on a case and things got dangerous. All those games with Moriarty had been fun just because of this. But John was the same, he would understand... No, he then reminded himself. He did not or he would have stayed. There was the usual sting in his heart when he thought about the doctor. Moriarty just sat there, apple in hand, and a little smile on his face. 

“I’m right, aren’t I? John is the same though. Deep down he is the same. Addicted to danger. But something made him change his mind. Or someone”, Moriarty said. “Or was it just you? After The Fall he was broken. Tried to give up and you know it even if you two never spoke of it.” 

Sherlock couldn’t do this. Even though this Moriarty was a figure of his imagination he couldn’t take it anymore. Sherlock grabbed his coat, slipped into it and hurriedly left the house. He needed his thoughts to shut up! He needed to sleep, some rest and just for his mind to calm down and stop imagining things like Moriarty in his living room. He walked through the streets but Moriarty was still there. 

“I didn’t think things between you would actually work. I mean you two were attracted to each other, that was clear. We all knew it. Your brother, Molly, Lestrade and the whole team of Scotland Yard... Even me and my men, and that’s why we targeted John. To bring you down. And it worked somehow, didn’t it?” 

“What do you mean?”, Sherlock grumbled, his hands in his pockets, collar turned up against the wind while Moriarty walked beside him. 

“I mean you two got separated. It hurt you both.” 

“But we got stronger.” 

“Have you now?”, James sounded surprised. “I don’t think so. I mean, look at you both....” 

“Go away!”, Sherlock grumbled again but his imaginary Moriarty didn’t go. 

Moriarty represented all the bad thoughts, all the doubt and destroying habits he had. Sherlock walked through the pouring rain to someone he hadn’t seen in ages. Someone who would help him to get the rest he needed. 

An hour later – since he had to walk through half the city – he arrived at an old and battered building. Some windows were missing & there was graffiti everywhere. He knocked and a familiar figure opened. 

“Shezza! How are you, man?”, Bill Wiggins said. 

“I need a favour Bill.” 

“Sure, come in.” 

Bill led him through all the addicts upstairs and to a clean and private room. He closed the door and smiled at the detective. 

“What do you need?” 

“I can’t sleep. I need to shut my mind off for a while and rest...” 

“I know exactly what you need.” Bill stepped to a cabinet and a minute later handed him a clean set and a small package of white powder. “Not too much. Just a bit and you can sleep, mate.” 

“How much?” 

“No charge”, Bill said and smiled. “It’s a favour for a friend.” 

“Thanks, Bill”, Sherlock said, put everything in his coat pocket and left. 

He arrived home late and found a meal waiting for him. The food was cold and he wasn’t particularly hungry. He ignored it and retired to the bedroom where he got rid of his clothes and headed to take a shower to calm him down. He remembered the last time John had joined him and he missed him even more. After his shower he quickly slipped into some pyjama buttons and headed back to the living room to collect the fresh needle and the heroin from his coat pocket. Was this a good idea? He didn’t care, he needed his thoughts to shut up. He needed to forget a bit. He locked his bedroom door and sat beside the bed, leaning against it while he put everything in position. Sherlock was calm, calmer than anticipated when he fixed his shot. He chose a vein on his right arm and carefully positioned the needle. 

“You really think this is a good idea?”, Imaginary Moriarty said from the chair by the window. 

“Shut up!”, Sherlock once more grumbled and put the needle in his vein, slowly pressing on it so the heroin spread. 

The effect was incredible and much more intense than he remembered. Immediately he was calm. His thoughts stopped and even Moriarty vanished. Tiredness took over after a while. He leaned his head against the bed and closed his eyes. His first fix in years and he somehow had missed it. It was a brilliant feeling and he remembered why he had loved it so much. The calmness of his thoughts, of everything around him. Sherlock closed his eyes and barely managed to put the needle away before he drifted off into the heavenly world of his heroin rush. 

John hadn’t heard anything from Sherlock after a week of trying. He had cut down on therapy because he needed a break. This was his first day back and he felt better than before. Yet he still missed Sherlock and decided to call Mycroft before he would head to his appointment. 

“Holmes”, he picked up the phone. 

“It's John. John Watson”, he said, a bit confused at the harsh tone Mycroft had picked up with. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I just wanted to check how things are.” 

“Not too good. I’m sorry I can’t talk at the moment. I’ll call you back as soon as I can”, the older Holmes brother said and hung up. 

What was that? Confused but fully knowing that Mycroft would call if he said so. A bit nervous and thinking about the call he entered the office of his therapist. He was a bit early so he waited when he heard the angry voice of his therapist in the other room. 

“Don’t you dare to doubt me! I know what I’m doing and this is working. They already split up. I’ve the doctor in my hand. He does what I want him to do.” 

John listened closer to what the man said. Was he talking about him? No, surely, he meant another patient. But why would he talk about his patients like this? John got suspicious and listened closer. Something was definitely wrong. 

“No I got this. You keep an eye on the detective and his annoying brother. I guess the British Government suspects something.” 

John knew definitely that this was about him and Sherlock and even Mycroft now. What was going on? 

“I gotta go. He’ll be here any minute.” 

He could hear his therapist rummage around in his office before Doctor Jones stepped outside at the usual time, definitely surprised to see John this early. 

“John! Since when are you here? I didn’t hear the door.” 

“Oh don’t worry. I haven’t been here long”, John lied easily and smiled. 

“Tea?”, Jones asked, as usual, and John nodded while sitting in the comfortable armchair once again looking at his therapist’s back while he prepared the tea. 

“How are you feeling John?”, he asked a few minutes later and sat down. 

“I’m good. Slept well for once.” 

“That’s good. Any news regarding Sherlock?” 

“No. He tried to contact me last week but I didn’t reply.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’m not ready yet.” 

John hoped for this session to be over soon and call Mycroft again when his phone rang several minutes later. Doctor Jones looked askingly at him. 

“Excuse me. This is important”, John said and picked up. 

“John?” 

“Yes?” 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t talk earlier. I’m at Baker Street now. Please come over. It’s Sherlock.” 

“I’ll be there in a bit.” His therapist looked at him curiously and confused when John jumped up and grabbed his coat. “I have to go. It’s important.” 

Without another word he was out and on the street where a black car was waiting for him. He knew Mycroft had never lowered his watch on him and now he was thankful for it. The car got him quite quickly through the thick London afternoon traffic and stopped half an hour later in front of 221B Baker Street. John was out of the car before it had stopped, fumbled for his keys, locked the door with shaking hands and ran up the stairs where he found Mycroft and Greg in their living room. The older Holmes was on the phone while the DI just stood here and waited impatiently. John stepped to him. 

“What’s going on?”, he quietly asked Greg. 

“Sherlock is missing. We can’t find him anywhere. The only thing we found in his bedroom was a used needle and some traces of heroin. Myc is very worried.” 

“He’s using again?”, John asked, quite shocked, and Greg nodded. 

“Looks like it.” 

“Shit...”, John sighed and waited impatiently until Mycroft had finished his call. 

“We found him. He’s at Wiggins’ place. You’ll come?”, he asked John. 

John nodded and the three of them were out again. It took them some time to get there but when they arrived, John was the first one who was out and hammered against the door. Bill opened a few minutes later and was stunned to see the doctor, the DI and Mycroft Holmes in front of the door. 

“Where is he?”, John asked. 

“Upstairs”, Bill said and immediately the doctor hurried inside, upstairs and he found him in Bill’s room. 

“Oh my god...”, John mumbled. 

Sherlock lay on the small bed in the dark corner of the room. He was covered with a blanket, sweating, eyes closed, bruises on his arms and delirious. John kneed beside him and took his pulse. Weak but steady. He looked horrible and his fears about Sherlock using had come true. And he knew it was because of him leaving. A moment later Mycroft stepped beside him, a hand rested on his shoulder. 

“Don’t...”, he mumbled and yet John knew it was his fault. 

“We need to get him into a hospital.” 

“We should get him home”, Greg said simply. “Getting him into a hospital because of this will destroy his reputation and his work with us. I know he wouldn’t want that.” 

“Alright”, John said and he tried to wake Sherlock a bit up. “Sherlock... It’s me.” 

He moaned when John slowly pulled him up. It hurt John to see him like this and it made him furious. Furious at himself because he was the one responsible. He helped him into his coat. 

“Come on let’s get you home”, John said and helped him up. 

Sherlock’s head rested against his shoulder and he mumbled something unintelligible. Greg helped him to get Sherlock downstairs and to the car while Mycroft stepped to Bill and silently talked to him. Sherlock had no clue what was going on and continued to mumble something. 

“Was it like this?”, John asked Greg. 

The DI knew it was about Sherlock’s youth before he met the doctor. He had never told John the full story how he had found Sherlock and how bad it was. 

“No...”, Lestrade said as he helped Sherlock into the car. “It was worse.” 

Without another word Greg slipped in the backseat beside Sherlock, and John did too when Mycroft left the building. Silently and with a mumbling Sherlock in the back, they drove to Baker Street where the two men got him upstairs. Mrs Hudson had already prepared the bedroom and made some tea for them. John promised to handle things while Greg and Mycroft waited in the living room. John got Sherlock to the bathroom to clean him up. Only slowly he made the detective understand what he needed him to do. John slipped out of his coat, helped Sherlock out of his and then started to undress him while he turned on the water to fill the bathtub. 

“Come on Sherlock”, he mumbled softly. “One arm after the other...” He helped him out of his shirt and tossed it into the washing machine. 

“John?”, the detective asked. “You can’t be here”, he then mumbled. “You left.” 

“I did. But now I’m back”, John said and helped him to undress and get into the hot water. 

“Why?”, Sherlock mumbled a bit clearer now. 

“Let’s not talk about this now. I’m here and you’re fine. I’ll leave you alone for a moment”, John said and headed outside just when his mobile rang. “Watson”, he took the call. 

“Doctor Watson. I wondered if you’ll come back and we can finish today’s session?”, he heard the voice of his therapist at the other end. 

“Oh no, I can’t. But I’ll be there for the next appointment.” 

“Alright. See you tomorrow then.” 

“Thanks for understanding.” 

John hung up and stepped into the living room where Mycroft sat in Sherlock’s armchair and had a cup of tea while Greg had a drink, sitting on the sofa. 

“How is he?”, the older Holmes asked. 

“He’s still high as a kite but having a bath now. Then I’ll get him to bed. We just need to hope he’ll be okay when he goes cold turkey. I’m not sure he’s ready for this.” 

“He’ll be fine. He can do it”, Mycroft said. 

“Yes, he can do it”, Greg confirmed and it made John calmer. 

Apparently, this was a completely normal situation for them, they had witnessed before. John nodded and returned to Sherlock who was still in the bathtub, a fag in one hand, leaned back, eyes closed and calmly breathing. Where did he get those cigarettes? John sat on the floor nearby and watched him. Sherlock didn’t react to his arrival and just smoked and lay in the tub. John scrutinized him. He had bruises all over his body and especially arms where he had used the needle. Why had he started again? 

Sherlock couldn’t remember how he got here. Into the tub in Baker Street and why John was here, but he had decided not to think about it. He smoked while John watched him. He was still high and just completely calm. He didn’t care about John being back, not anymore. All was his fault and he was sure that John would just stay as long as he needed to be clean again, then he would leave once more. Thinking about all this hurt him so he shoved the thought away. He wanted to have everything back the way it was. To have John by his side, permanently. The night around him was here but with John the sun was also there and rose in the mornings. But only as long as he would be with him. After a while John stepped closer. 

“Come on. Let’s get you into bed. You need to rest.” 

He helped him up and dressed him into some pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt. Sherlock’s limbs wouldn’t coordinate so it was quite hard to get him up, dressed and to bed. When John had finally managed, Sherlock was already absent. The doctor went back to the others and left Sherlock alone again. He closed his eyes and imagined things between them. They were back together again. John was happy and cheerful, making them breakfast like every morning while there was music in the background. Something familiar but Sherlock had no idea what song it was. They were on a case, had dinner at Angelo's. Visited Mycroft and his parents for tea. Everything was perfect with John by his side. 

When he woke up again, it was late at night, the room was dark and the lamp on the bedside table was the only light in the room. He felt cold and yet he was sweating. His hands started shaking and he was thirsty. He knew the symptoms. He was withdrawing and it was bad. He needed a shot. Quietly as possible to not wake John - who sat on the chair nearby, fast asleep – Sherlock stood up and headed to his dresser where he usually kept a bit of heroin and a clean needle. But when he looked for it, it was gone. Shit! Probably his brother who knew about it. He searched the whole flat for some but there was nothing. Even his cigarettes were gone. Bugger.... He wasn’t sure how he could do this without a slight shot. He thought about slipping out of the flat and heading to a dealer nearby but when he tried, the doors were locked and the keys nowhere to be found. 

“Don’t try to get out”, he heard John’s voice from the bedroom. “You won’t. Not unless you’re clean.” 

Tired he sank against the wall and slipped to the floor in the living room. An hour later it was even worse. But this time John was by his side, holding him and trying to calm him. That’s when Moriarty returned. 

“See, he did come back to you.” 

“But not for long. When this is over...”, Sherlock said but stopped for a moment. “I’m sure he’ll leave again then.” 

John stayed silent when he heard Sherlock talking beside him. Probably some hallucinations. 

“Yeah, that’s probably true”, Moriarty said, drink in his hand, sitting on the sofa. “I doubt he’ll care if you do this a second time. He’s probably just here because your brother called.” 

“I know he is”, Sherlock confirmed. 

“Why do you care so much then?” 

“Because he must still care if he’s here.” 

  
Who was Sherlock talking to, John asked himself while Sherlock talked beside him. 

The next few days continued to be like this and then suddenly it was over. When John woke three days later on a Saturday morning the bed beside him was empty. He'd had another restless night on the chair beside their bed and every bone and muscle hurt in his body. Yet he immediately was up when he found the room empty. 

“Sherlock?”, John said loudly and stepped into the kitchen and then the living room where he found him. 

“Good morning, John”, Sherlock said like his usual self, dressed in a suit, shaved and currently reading the papers. 

“How are you?”, John asked carefully and scrutinized the other man. 

“Fine and bored. Isn’t there a case to solve?”, Sherlock asked, composed, putting the paper away. 

John was happy to see him like this and smiled softly. This was his Sherlock. Cocky, composed, deducing, bored and only his. Yet there was still all that had happened and was unsaid between them. 

“I’m glad you seem to be normal again. I’ll head and get dressed”, John mumbled, got the keys out of his pockets and opened the doors before he headed to the bathroom to get changed and take a quick shower. 

When he returned a cup of tea was waiting on the small table beside his armchair. John sat in it and had a sip. Just like Sherlock was making it. Sherlock sat opposite John, legs crossed, fingers touching, watching him intensely. 

“What?”, John asked and smiled a little. 

It made him happy seeing Sherlock being his old self again. Deducing him. 

“I guess we have a new case”, the consulting detective said. 

“Which one?”, John said and had decided to go along until they had talked about him leaving and Sherlock going back to drugs. 

“The case to find out who your therapist really is.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I guess you suspected something. But since he’s your therapist and you started trusting him, you couldn’t see the full picture. But my brother did.” 

“How?” Sherlock stayed silent. “Did he place a bug on me?” 

“Yes, and he actually did listen to the recording. Hard to believe that he would take his time to do this but he did. And slowly and pretty good actually, Doctor Sebastian Jones convinced you to leave me after this incident. Convincing you it would be best for your health. But it wasn’t, was it?” 

“No”, John admitted. “I missed you.” 

“I did too John. But more importantly we have to get him away from you. You don’t know who he truly is, do you?” 

“He’s my therapist. A doctor. That’s all I know.” 

“He’s no doctor John. He’s a liar, a murderer and the ex-lover of Moriarty.” 

“What?” 

“Sebastian Moran. Haven’t you heard of him?” 

“No. How do you know him?” 

“I got to know him when I destroyed the network while I was away. He swore to bring us down. I thought he wouldn’t since we'd heard nothing all those years but now...” 

“What do we do?” 

“Get him off the streets.” 

“How are you feeling?”, John asked, a bit concerned. 

“I’m fine. Thank you.” 

“And what about us?”, John wanted to know after a few minutes of silence. 

“I don’t know”, Sherlock confessed and looked right into the eyes of the doctor. 

John shivered. His look was intense and yet calm and thankful. Then without a word both got up, dressed in their coats and left the flat. 

They arrived at the office of John’s therapist in time and both waited. The moment Jones stepped outside and saw Sherlock, he turned and ran. Apparently, Sebastian knew what was going on. Sherlock was quicker than John and out in a second. They had Greg’s man outside waiting but who now dealt with Moran when John arrived a few minutes later. Greg cuffed him and shoved him in the car, telling him his rights. 

“It’s over”, Sherlock said and looked at his doctor. 

Sherlock hoped that things would be normal now - John coming back to him - But he wasn’t entirely sure. John just looked at him. He was stupid to leave him. They once had promised that they would never leave the other one behind, even if things got bad. How could he break his promise? Without thinking John hugged Sherlock and apologised. 

“I’m so sorry I broke my promise and left. I don’t know why I did it. I’m so sorry you used again due to my actions. I’ll never forgive myself.” 

Sherlock stood there for a moment without moving. Then his arms automatically closed around Johns shaking body who had started crying. 

“Please come home to me”, Sherlock said. “I miss you every moment you’re not with me. I miss you making us tea and breakfast, reading the papers, waking up beside you.” 

“I miss all this too. But...” John waited and looked into Sherlock’s blue-green captivating eyes. “Will you take me back?” 

“I can’t think of anything else I want this much.” 

“I can think of something”, John then said and Sherlock scrutinized him, one brow suspiciously raised and a questioning look in his eyes. “Marry me”, the doctor said and let his fingers glide over his cheekbone down to his chin and neck. 

Sherlock looked at him. This was serious. John had meant it and the thought of making the doctor his in front of the whole world made him happy. Without thinking further about it he nodded, leaned down and pressed his lips against John’s. 

“I will”, he mumbled when they parted for a moment to catch their breath. 

John smiled and pulled him closer again before their lips met again. It was perfect and both of them couldn’t be happier and John was sure that nothing in this world could make him part from his crazy detective again. Nothing. He would always stand by his side. 

The End


End file.
